Jack Midnight's "Fly Me To The Moon"

Hey Proles, check it out!

Hendo posted a clip from this Saturday's Belmont Burlesque Review, singing "Fly Me To The Moon." As much grief as I give him, Hendo pours his heart and soul into these pieces. It's not that bad, actually.



Cheers,
Mr.B

Science News: Iguana with Non-Stop Erection to Be Castrated!

I have no jokes to add to this story. Reality has trumped me. Anything I would add would be redundant.

Just watch it for yourself.

(Please note: This news video may not be safe for work. Especially if you work with iguanas who might be offended by the sight of an iguana erection.)



I DO have to add that I didn't know that iguana's had two penises. That's got to be handy.

Mr.B

A Few Small, Life Upgrades.

These things have recently been added to my life and improved it immensely. I thought I would mention them here to you.

-Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip-
How is it possible that 13 episodes have aired and nobody has told me how AMAZING this show is. The acting ranges from pretty good to fucking brilliant. But the writing, Oh my, the writing is always brilliant. I had a revelation last night, watching my third episode in a row, that the show is smarter than I am. That Sorkin is a better writer than I am. And that says a lot. I think I'm brilliant.
I'm enjoying the episodes that Bravo showed in a recent marathon. I'm also DVRing new episodes. And rest assured, when the DVD set comes out, I'll pick that up too.
Fucking brilliant.

-Breathe Right Nasal Strips-
You know, the flesh-colored bandages that you sometimes see sleeping people wearing on their noses. The idea behind these little gems is that they remain flexible, but partly rigid, holding the nose more open. With the nose more open, you're more likely to breathe through the nose and not through the throat, which decreases your chances of snoring.
I snore. A lot. Joe says that when I hit a really big tear, it rattles the walls. I think that he's given to poetic exaggeration, but I do believe that I do snore. I've been using these nose strips for a week and a half now and we both have noticed improvments. Joe says that he hears me much less and when I do snore, it's just for a bit and then I quiet down. For my part, I notice that I sleep harder with these things on. Now that I'm not snoring as much, I'm waking up less in the night, which means deeper, harder sleeps.
It's crazy, but these things work. And for such a cheap cost (only 4.99 for a 20 strip pack), my sleep is dramatically improved. Who wouldn't want to get up on that?

-The Recent Plumbing Upgrades.-
For reasons that only Joe can explain to you, he neglected to ever ask for service for any of the myriad of plumbing traumas that our apartment suffered from.
The bathtub regularly gets clogged up.
There was a not insubstantial leak under the toilet which we used to capture in a largish bowl, dumping it back into the toilet, ever day or so. (Fresh water into the bowl. Not pee water. That would've been immediately intolerable.)
The kitchen sink leaked (also collected in a bucket).
The tap to the faucet had come off completely and we "made water" (tee hee) by adjusting the rod that the faucet handle used to go on.
Disasters all around. And Joe made no efforts to fix any of them, nor to request service on them. He said that the toilet had been like that for nearly two years.
Last week, I got sick of all of those plumbing problems and requested a visit from the plumber. I scheduled it for this Monday. A day that I knew that I had off.

It took our plumber almost 4 hours, but he fixed everything but the bathtub. (Which I forgot to mention to him.)
The toilet doesn't leak anymore.
The sink's cup was cracked and has been replaced entirely.
The sinks faucet was also replaced entirely.

By the time that he left, the only thing that wasn't fixed was the Frequently Clogging Bathtub.

And I accidentally fixed that, this morning.
Tired of standing in two inches of bathwater, I grabbed the plunger and worked it over. Imagine my surprise when on the third plunge, a blue, shampoo bottle top came free from the drain and hopped up into the tub. Immediately thereafter, the entire tub drained with a whoosh. This damned shampoo top has been down there the whole time and now it's out. With it's removal, the last plumbing annoyance (for now) in the apartment was ended and normality was restored.

I am looking forward to tomorrow's shower.

-Jamba Juice's Fresh-Squeezed Orange Juice-Why have I been buying those damned smoothies, when this joint offers fresh-squeezed orange juice on a small bed of crushed ice?
I love fresh-squeezed OJ. Love it. Always have. So, discovering a joint where I can get one, whenever I want, is a huge boon.
Granted, a large one is over 4 bucks. So, this will be an infrequent indulgence. Still, it's nice to make the discovery.

-HBO's Carnivale- A friend of mine and I are working through this series together. I'd forgotten how good the show was/is. And how carefully and slowly the show doles out the mythology. we're currently three episodes into the first season. So there are still miles ahead of us, yet to travel. This will be a pleasure.

-The Ricky Gervais Podcasts-
If you see me sitting quietly on the train, headphones on and I'm giggling quietly to myself, it's probably because I'm listening to the Ricky Gervais podcasts on my ipod.
Good Christ, but they're funny!
The ones that I've listened to are basically Steven Merchant and Gervais endlessly harassing the unbelievable Karl Pilkington. Truthfully, Pilkington is the lead of the show and Gervais and Merchant hang back and listen to the parade of inane thoughts that Pilkington lets fly. I can't recall them here. You'll have to listen to get an idea of what I'm talking about. But I love the show.
The first three seasons are available in the Itunes store, for 6.99 per season. I think that each season equals 12 hours. Absolutely worth it.
(You can also search for "Ricky Gervais" in the podcasts and get three "Podfather" podcasts that are meant to be an introduction to the show. They are, of course, free of charge. Check them out. They'll give you an idea of whether the podcasts match your humor preferences or not, without spending any cash. (They absolutely killed me. Completely won me over.)

Some people say that it is the collection of either all the small pleasures or all the small annoyances that form the overall tapestry of our lives. Right now, these particular little things are a pleasure and I wanted to share them with you. Maybe you'll check one or some of them out and they'll enrich your tapestry, as well.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Some Good News About DSIF 2007...

Got some emails from Zach (the festival's organizer) and he's making a BIG use of Stinger at this year's festival. Thanks to his recent invitation, International Stinger will not only be playing a Friday night set... but we'll also be playing the late Friday night Cagematch (representing the entire city of Chicago) and hosting Open Court on Saturday night in the DSIF space!

I have to tell you, we're all pretty pumped up about this opportunity. First of all, it's a big deal to us, to be invited to participate more in the festival. This is our fourth year coming back and we've consistently had good shows there. I think that gives Zach confidence in asking us to step up a bit. He knows we'll bring our "A" game.

So, we'll practice CageMatch style playing at the next few rehearsals. (We're performing out "Heroes" form for our show. And we're pretty confident that we'll nail Open Court, having run the show for two years now.) Playing in a CageMatch is something entirely new to me...I can't wait to learn that particular skillset.

In other news, I am no longer coaching Speed Lemon. I needed to step away. I was feeling increasingly like I was not a good fit to what they want to do in rehearsals. I also felt like my communication style wasn't working for them. Which was frustrating me, as well. I've found a superlative replacement coach for them, in the meantime. They can decide to keep him or hire someone else, on their own. I wish them nothing but the best of luck on what they decide to do, from here.

In unrelated news, I've added theme appropriate pictures of monkeys to this blog, over on the left. I like them. They're whimsical. I plan to keep them for a while. Who doesn't like monkeys? Right?

Cheers,
Mr.B


Kickin' Ass in 2007: International Stinger!

2007 Birthday Wrap-Up.

Well, I survived.

Despite the alcohol
Despite the beating
Despite Destiny the Strippers attempt to smother me with her great big boobs, I survived another birthday.

Here's the tale of the tape, followed by a photoblog, with pics taken on the night of. I'll keep the captioning to a minimum and let the pics speak for themselves.

The Cold Hard Facts:
Left the house at 6:40pm.
Dinner at Leona's at 7pm.
Walked over to The Town Hall at 9pm.
DJ Rich Cole was already there, laying down funk and soul tracks, all night long.
3 Cape Cods (vodka & cranberry), 4 shots of chilled vodka later.
Savagely Beaten by a Dominatrix at 11pm.
Walked to the PG to perform at the Rene benefit at midnight.
Walked back to the Town Hall at 12:30am.
Drank 2 more Cape Cods and did another 4 - 5 shots.
Hugged every girl that came within arms length of me.
Took pictures with tons of people.
Yanked out of the Town Hall at 2:45am, shoved in a cab and driven to the Admiral Theater with Joe and Hendo.
Lead away from the VIP table by Destiny (the same stripper that danced for me the LAST time that I was there), to a private booth where she proceeded to show me the benefits of tanning, a proper exercise regiment, stretching before physical activity and her years of extensive gymnastics training. She also spanked herself, although not as hard as the Dominatrix spanked me.
The Admiral Theater closed down at 4am and we three piled into a cab and drove to the Golden Nugget on Lawrence for breakfast.
Cabbed home with Joe at 4:40am.
Walked the dog.
Slept until 1:30pm, Sunday.
Woke up hung over and bruised on my entire ass area.

Now then, here's the pics.

A Visit From An Old Friend.
My good friend from college, Wade, made the trip in from Louisville to spend my birthday with me. It was really, really wonderful having him here. On Friday, we saw "Borat" together at the Vic. I showed him some of the sights of the city. He got to sleep in and enjoy a mini-vacation. And when the birthday shenanigans began, he was always there, in the middle of the conversation. Wade's no wall-flower.
It was grand having him here. I liked having him meet all of my friends. And they took to him like Peas and Honey.
This is my good buddy, Wade. (You'll see more of him later.)



Dinner at Leona's.
These good folks caught dinner with me, early in the evening, at Leona's.


Hendo, the Master of Disaster.
When I met him at the restaurant, he said, "We're going to make this a birthday to remember." And he wasn't kidding. At the bar, Hendo made sure that my glass was always full. If someone was looking for me, he pointed them my way. He took pics of me with other people. And when I got too busy to notice the call time for my show, it was Hendo who got my attention. While I was at the show, he met guests who arrived and told them where I was and took care of them. It was Hendo who propositioned the dominatrix. And it was Hendo who took the pictures. It was Hendo who sped us off to The Admiral Theater and it was Hendo who bought us late night breakfast.
His entire philosophy on that night was, "Don't worry. I've got it all taken care of." and he wasn't kidding. You couldn't ask for a better friend.
Enough dick-suckery, back to the pics.


Wade and Joe.
Joe is my roommate. And he and Hendo tag-teamed the whole event. As much as Hendo had my back, so to, did Joe. Joe paid for countless shots. And bankrolled the Deejay. And was right there with me, cabbing off to the Admiral. Joe and I started the night together and ended it together.
A true friend.


Nick and Sinead.
You can't see it in the pic, but Sinead is eating dinner for two. She's due in March. Another Improv Superbaby!


Mr. Gilmour.
My writing partner and good friend.
(At the Playground, Ryan came up to me out of nowhere and handed me a book and said, "This is your birthday present. It's from my own library." It was one of the Horatio Hornblower books. I chuckled when he said it and I think for a second, he looked hurt. But I explained that I thought it was charming as Hell to give me one of his own books. That meant a lot to me. It was equivalent to saying, "Here. This thing means enough to me, to own, but I want you to have it too. So, I give you my own thing."
He's a good friend. I'm excited to see what we come up with in 2007.


Edison.
Another one of my dearest friends.
Edison surprised me with the First Season of "The Kids In the Hall" on DVD. We'd discussed it, ages ago, when he said that he had a spare copy. I offered to buy it off of him and we left it at that. It's a mark of his thoughtfulness that he remembered it and gave it to me for my birthday.
Edison is suffering a terrible cold, though. So he took off after dinner. But I was still very happy to see him there.

Later, at The Town Hall
I saw these people and did these things!






The Birthday Beating.
(as was recently posted on the Chin-board)

Okay, this is what will henceforth be known as The Birthday Beating, presented in blurry Hendo-Vision.


Okay, the lady on the left is the Dominatrix, Meg. Yes, she is wearing a wig. Why? In her words, "Because my hear is so dirty from a long day of spanking and beating men, that I didn't want to take the time to go home and wash it. So, I wore a wig, instead."
So now you know...


This is me, pre-Beating. I have foolishly given her my belt to "spank" me with. Note that I am also smiling and completely oblivious to what is about to happen. In fact...

...I am so unaware of what's going to happen to me, that I give an excited, naive "Thumbs Up" hand signal.

Later, I regret that "thumbs up" signal.

The Beating Begins.
Meg rips into me like someone has paid her to rub me out. The first whip crack from the belt hitting my meaty ass is so loud, that Rich, the deejay, stops playing music. He thinks that a gunshot has gone off.
The first blow hurt SO BAD, that I didn't feel it until the third or fourth one hit. And then they all came upon me,all at once.
Meg, the belt-wielding whipping lady, had also had a few drinks. So her aim was off. She hit me as low as the backs of my knees and as high as my lower back.

That is a genuine grimace of pain. I am just now realizing that this woman is going to beat me like a Runaway Slave.


Here, I am thinking, "Jesus Christ, this woman is beating this shit out of me. My ass is on fire!" You can even see the belt in the pic. Meg has chosen an upswing on this one and caught me below the buttocks, giving me total coverage. She clearly has done this before.

My "fight or flight" instinct has kicked in and my instinct is to "flight". I try to get away from Meg, but she has a pretty long reach with that whip. And she keeps grabbing me by the hips and pulling me back. Everything from the back, down to the my knees feels like it's been stripped entirely away. This is what Christ must've felt like during his torture at Roman hands. I try to think of what I could confess to her, to get it to stop.
Women in the bar cry out, "Stop it! You're hurting him!" And they were right.


A momentary reprieve, when Meg put down the belt and switches to her open palm. She grabbsme and pullsme back, since I am trying to get away again. She paddles me like a naughty child. WAP!WAP!WAP!WAP!WAP! So fast that the audience loses count for a second. It occurs to me that Meg never agreed to only give me 32 swats. She may just keep going until I pass out from the pain.
At one point, I yell "Jesus Christ! Work the left cheek, Meg. I think you've got the right one covered!" And so she did. WAP!WAP!WAP!WAP!WAP!
Hendo is laughing so hard that the camera is visibly shaken by the event.

The crowd counted the blows and on "And One More to GROW ON!" Meg reared back her fist all the way down to Gary, IN. and summoned forth a "Hail Mary" of a punch that punched me squar in the butthole. If I weren't wearing trousers, she would've gone in up to the elbow. All I could do was grimace and take it. My entire backside was engulfed in endless, undulating flames. A pain that I have never experienced. I grabbed the nearest chair and table and stood, stooped over like that until I could walk again. Each shuffled step was a fresh explosion of agony. I stood like this, for a very long time...



Eventually, someone handed me a shot and a cocktail. That helped to dull the pain. Meg came over later and said, "How was that?" I said, "I bow to your superior lashing skills. Please don't ever do that to me again." and she laughed and kissed my cheek and wandered off to crush some poor unsuspecting bastards testicles with her stilleto heel.

Later, Joe confessed that he laughed so hard at the beating, that he got dizzy and had to look away. He could tell from my expression that I didn't appreciate the situation that Hendo had gotten me into. And when the first few blows came down and I hopped around and yelped and tried to get away, Joe laughed harder than he had, in years. It was, without question, his favorite part of the night.

For me, The rest of the night was a blur.


My Friends Are All Bad-Asses!
In the course of the rest of the evening, for reasons I can't entirely explain, it became a running motif to take pictures of my friends, showing me their "Fightin' Faces!" You know, the face you make when you're going to take somebody down! Hard!
People were really into it. I have really expressive friends. And this is what they gave me, when asked to show me their "Fightin' Faces!"


"Noobs" gets it! Look how tough she looks!


Here's Wade, showing you Pop-Eye's Fightin'Face!


Justin is coming! And Hell's Coming With Him!


Beware of El Presidente!


Gilmour shows us the Slow Burn!


What can I say? Joe is a lover, not a fighter.


Dwyer isn't going to bother taking his cigarette out of his mouth to kick your ass!


You just bought a ticket to Dina's Gun Show, Mister! This is the Cannon Exhibit! Downstairs, you should check out her bazookas!


Justin Don't Wanna Fight! Nooooo way! No problem here, buddy!


Roger's Fightin' Face is bloody scary!


Whilst Harz's is too sweet to be intimidating.


Sayjal offers no resistance, but Swinko points out that her guns are loaded!


Nat proves that she's one tough chick too!


And her husband Kyle put on his best "Goin' Stabbin" face! Look out!


This pic of Brian, Noobs beau, is what started it all off. Believe it or not, this was him, smiling, when he got to the bar. I caught him transitioning from his "Hi Everybody" smile to his "Hey, Beer!" smile and the combination of the two is one scary, effed up picture.
Oddly enough, when I asked him later to show me his "Fightin' Face" again, this is what I got.

I think the boy's got his wires crossed or something.

One Golden Epilogue.
This was, without a doubt, the most fun that I've had out all year long. (Easy enough to say that, since the year was only twenty days in.) After we left the Town Hall and later, The Admiral Theater (sorry lads, no pictures allowed in there), Hendo, Joe and I ended up at the Golden Nugget on Lawrence for one last, late-night meal. We were all a little tipsy, yet, from the evenings libations. It was good to cap the night off with two of my best friends, in a comfortable place, swapping stories and gossiping. After a while, I just sat back and listened to Joe and Hendo talk and was just very grateful to have them there.
Later, when I thanked Hendo for a very memorable night and for being such a good friend to me, he said, "Ah Christ, now he's goin' all faggoty on me." We all three laughed at that and went to our separate cabs home. I walked in the door at nearly 5am and almost immediately fell asleep. The end of a very long, happy night.

I'll close this post with a Horrifying image that perfectly sums up the night. I present for your viewing pleasure...Hendo, The Master of Disaster in a little picture that I call, "Happy Birthday, Billy!"


And the people rejoiced...

My Big, Gay, 32nd Birthday!

Lord, but I DO have Strange and Wonderful Friends,

Over on the Chinboard, my good friend Crescent started a "Happy Birthday" thread for me! It's taken a hilariously bad turn towards the "gay" as people post beef-cake pics in there for me! I'm intentionally avoiding posting in it, lest I disturb the bits! I think it's hilarious though. You might, too!

Check it out, here.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Eff You, Commercials.

When we got our cable installed in our apartment, way back in the summer of 2006, our cable installer told me (since Joe was back in KY, working a lengthy theater gig) that it would cost us $75 per DVR, if we wanted to have them installed in our apartment. With two working tv’s that would've been $150 in one lump sum that I would have to shell out to upgrade. Joe and I both loved having DVRs before, but at the time it was more than we wanted to spend. Besides, we were both getting used to Comcast On Demand, which stockpiles movies and tv shows, having them ready for viewing at all times. The CBS page automatically stockpiled Survivor for me and the NBC page was good about giving Joe his CSI. So, we were content without the DVRs that we both knew that we loved and wanted.

That is, until the new season of 24 started. Joe LOVES that show. I’ve never seen him so obsessed about something. He knew that he was going to have to work on the first Monday and Tuesday of the new season, so he had to work out something to tape those shows for him. He texted me every twenty minutes on Sunday to see if I'd hooked up the VCR and ran some tests to make sure that it would work.

In order to fulfill Joe’s Jack Bauer jones, I rigged up my old VCR. (Which I haven’t watched a movie on, since college.) As it turned out, I’d long ago thrown out the small pile of blank VCR tapes. In order to tape 4 hours of 24, we had to cannibalize two of Joe’s wrastlin tapes. Wrestlemania XX and some other wrastlin show. We managed to tape both shows, but they had that tinny, washed out color of VCR recordings on a used tape. Even recorded at the SP mode, there was definitely something muted about the presentation of the show. Just goes to show you how spoiled I am for digital recording and DVDs.

But with the crisis averted for those two days, there was still the matter of the rest of the show's season. Because the timing system on the VCR is unfathomable, someone has to be at the apartment to press “RECORD” every time you want to tape something. Which sort of defeats the purpose of the whole system. At Joe’s urgent pleading, I called Comcast to see if we couldn’t just get a single DVR system installed on our front tv. Joe and I freed up the extra $75 and called them.

Guess what? The $75 was the cost to have the installer come and hook the darned thing up for me. If I wanted them to mail it to me or go pick it up myself, I would pay nothing. (Except the $12 a month, per unit, DVR fee.) I had the customer service rep reserve two DVRs for me and made plans to go pick them up last night.

Yesterday was a long day. I had to get up early and disconnect the cable boxes for the two tvs and take them to work with me, in my backpack. I rode the blue line out to Jefferson Park to pick up the DVRs, so that was a 45 minute trip. The actual exchange went pretty easily, with the clerk passing new equipment and receiving old equipment through a strange, airlock system.

One interesting note about Comcasts DVR program, they recycle DVR devices. When you return your DVR, after you close your account, your machine is wiped free of show data and is given away, sans packaging, to the next person who agrees to go pick it up. Of the two machines that I got, one of them had a noticeable brown ring on top of it, where it presumably burned something that covered its vents, causing it to overload and heat up real quick. Nonetheless, I took it home and hooked it up to the front TV. Burn mark and all.

Another interesting note, the DVR that I hooked up to my computer hadn’t been wiped. It still contained a TON of TV shows on it that the previous owner had left on there. My inner voyeur enjoyed picking through the hours of TV left on that machine, getting a taste for what appealed to the previous owner. What shows did he like? And I say, “Him”, because the shows were decidedly masculine. On my DVR, I found the entire first season of “Heroes”, nearly a dozen episodes of “Criss Angel:Mindfreaker!” and many, many episodes of Monday Night Football. Also, two or three of those Spike TV, caught on tape shows. (“Look! This family picnic is being attacked by a bear! Observe! This funny dog is sliding on ice! Whoops! Somebody fell to their death!”) I deleted everything but the “Heroes”. I take this as a sign that I probably should give that show a second chance.

I also added my own recordings to the lineup. I now tape an episode of The Waltons every morning. And the new “Daily Show” each evening. Tonight, I’m adding “Mythbusters” to the schedule. Also, “Lost” when it returns and “America’s Funniest Home Videos”, every Sunday evening.

One of the most exciting aspects of the addition of the DVRs to our home viewing options is the restored ability to skip commercials entirely. I FUCKING HATE COMMERCIALS. Only in TV is this sort of intrusive commercialization allowed. You don’t find interruptions on every other page of a novel, advertising some new feminine hygiene product. And movies don’t stop every twenty minutes to point out the benefits of this soda over that soda. Is it a coincidence that HBO doesn’t have commercials and they’re able to produce some of the smartest, sharpest dramas in our times? I don’t think so.

The ability to now fast forward those insipid commercials (and let’s face it, commercials are written by retards FOR retards, because it’s hard to communicate a complex idea in 80 seconds) is a God-send. With a little deft fast-forwarding from me, I may never have to watch a commercial, ever again.

And that alone is worth $12 a month to me.

So, yeah, that was my day yesterday. Locating DVRs, getting them home, hooking them up and programming them into the night. That’s why I didn’t get to sleep until 2 AM. And that’s why I’m exhausted today!

Say, take a look at that! It’s 5pm. Time to head home and see what those wacky, but wholesome Walton’s are up to!

Cheers,
Mr.B

Scamming the Horny Panda.

Saw this on this week's News of the Wierd and it made me laugh.

Scamming the Horny Panda: One trick that zookeepers have used to get male pandas interested in mating with dowdier females (according to a December dispatch from Sichuan, China, in Australia's The Age) is to let an attractive female roam around a pen, leaving her scent, and then, in darkness, with the male in the pen and frisky at the scent, to introduce the less attractive female into the pen, back-end first, so that the pre-excited male will quickly begin copulating. Said zookeeper Zhang Hemin, "When the males find out (that they've just mated with unintended partners), they get very angry and start fighting the female. We have had to use firecrackers and a water hose to separate them." [The Age (Melbourne), 12-17-06]

Who knew that Pandas were so finicky about their sex partners?

I am dying to know what an "ugly panda" looks like. I just can't imagine that.

I also love how the Panda's reaction to discovering that he's been tricked is roughly the same as any human reaction to being put in the same situation.

Don't try to trick a Panda. They hate that.

Tom Hanks as James Bond.

Megaprops to Sammy for finding this online. It's really wonderful. Give it a looksee, if you've got a free minute. (Absolutely workplace appropriate!)



Nice!
Mr.B

I Am Full Of the Concentrated Ginger of Holy Terror

At lunch today, I was reading the last quarter of "Stories from the Black Hills" the book about Deadwood. It's written largely by David Milch, the show's creator. At times it's a little dry because Milch is dealing heavily with symbolism and reality, which somehow gets distilled to be reflected in the stories of the famous Western town and her residents. Sometimes, it reads like a college textbook.

Scattered througout are interviews with the cast. They speak eloquently about their characters and where they fit in the larger tapestry of the show. Sometimes they talk about how they got the part of how the part evolved. That stuff is usually interesting. (For example, did you know that W.Earl Brown, who played Dan Dority, was from a small town near Paducah, Ky?)

The book is also includes snippets from books about life in Deadwood and at times, actual clippings from very old articles from the Deadwood newspaper, The Black Hills Daily Times. It was one such snippet, in the chapter that discussed violence as a tool in the world of Deadwood, that caught my eye. I record it below...

I give fair warning for no one to disturb me. If they do I’ll crimson the streets of Deadwood with the blood of all the men you see. I am full of the concentrated ginger of holy terror and when I get mad empires totter and kings abdicate – Beware!
Oath, recounted in The Black Hills Daily Times.
February 13, 1880

Imagine, one hundred and twenty seven years ago, some hooplehead in Deadwood got so loaded on whiskey or gin, that he took to the street and shouted this out to someone or everyone. A warning of dire consequences to "disturbing" this man that involved empires and kinds. A lofty rage.
And someone else there, heard this warning, this oath and recorded it for print in the town paper. Where it was preserved, until a hundred years or more later, when some copy editor found it in the paper or some book and included it in the Deadwood book. I read it and record it here for you.

How crazy is that?
Angry words, eloquently expressed, preserved for over a hundred years. The original context and identity of the author are both lost to us. But his words survived him and everyone that he knew and every building that he could've visited. And every thought that he could've known.

It makes me think about my words. Have I ever said anything to eloquently that it was preserved somewhere against my knowledge and is passed on, to eventually outlive me? Are there stories about me floating around that I don't know about, passing from teller to teller, getting further and further away from me?

And if those stories or those words continue floating on, what form will they eventually take? Will there be a book, where I am quoted? Will a new slang arise from something that I said as a mistake? Will I appear as a character in someone's fictional re-counting of your life? My little cameo added as a colorful character in between the decadent sex scenes and your inevitable death from drug overdose?

Some guy yelled something, a century ago and it's echoing still today.
I find that impressive.

Be well,
Mr.B

Impressed by Those Apes!

I saw a show on Monday and I liked it so much, that I want to plug it here. I have not been solicited to give my opinion. This is something that I want to discuss, because I want you to have the pleasure of seeing this show, before it's gone.

"
Here's the concept:
Some time in the far future, a scientist has taken apes and made them super-smart. They revolted and took over. (As was detailed in the superb Planet of the Apes movie series.) Well, the apes have come back in time to destroy our world. To give humans a single chance to defend themselves from the apes earthquake machine, they've selected 8 contestants to compete in a talent competition, representing all humanity. Each week, the contestants have one week to come up with material, representing a different challenge.

In week 1, they had to do an original song.
In week 2, they had to do stand-up comedy.

Also, the professor who runs the scoreboard and the host are humans who have been mastered by the apes to run their show for them. They're both really funny. I won't ruin their best bits here, but they don't overstay their welcome or drive their bits to the point of exhaustion.

The pleasure of the show is two-fold. On the one level, there's a very funny sci-fi/comedy thing happening with the actual apes, themselves. One is a sailor. One is the gay monkey. One is the "cool guy". And they play well off of each other. Clearly they're having a blast up there. And more often than not, their jokes hit with the audience, despite the fact that their faces are obscured by their ape masks. Which is not easy to do.

The other pleasure of the show is the AMAZING variety of talent that the eight contestants have. I'd say, without hesitation, that all eight of them "succeeded" in their stand-up routines. I laughed throughout. And sometimes I laughed at things that were supposed to be funny. The stand-up routines were all well-written and/or well-delivered! And the interraction between the host, the apes and the individual contestants was also a lot of fun.

At the end of each show, the contestants points are tallied and they are ranked on a master tote-board. And their scores carry over from week to week. So there's a value to seeing the show multiple times, as the contestants rise and fall on the toteboard. Currently, Erin Carr is the comedy juggernaut of the show. And judging from these two clips, you can see why...

Here's a clip of her Tour-De-Force Original Song. It's WONDERFUL, people. Check it out!



And this is her performance as a Victorian Stand-Up comedianne. Smart concept, sharp execution. (Dig the paper version of the brick wall behind the stand-up comedians. A nice detail!)



By spot-lighting Erin's performances, I don't mean to take away from the fine work of the other contestants. They all busted their butts to come up with original songs, as well. And by the miracle of YouTube, they're all available for your viewing pleasure on the Apes website, http://www.impresstheseapes.com/. Check them out, if you've got a few minutes. They're all a lot of fun!

Watching the show, I never had a feeling of "Man, I REALLY want to be IN this show." Instead, I sat back and enjoyed the visuals and audio jokes that they were laying down, happy to just be watching. I DID want to see other performances of the show, though, to see what the contestants were going to come up with. And I MOST ESPECIALLY wanted to see the final show to see if it was going to be close or to see if Erin Carr is going to bull-doze those guys. (In fact, I'm probably going to have to take that Monday night off from rehearsal to go see how it all ends.) The winner receives $250 cash and a bunch of other shit. Who wouldn't want to see that?

Here's what I reccomend, go see the show sometime soon, to get a sense of what they're doing and then plan to catch the BLOCKBUSTER show finale and see how it all ends. And bring friends. There's still a few seats left open for folks in the back-row. The show I saw had filled the first three rows. Which is a good sign.

Go see this show!
Go see, "Impress These Apes!"
(Next weeks show will be a Dance Off, how could you miss that?)

Cheers,
Mr.B

Up to Monkey Business

In keeping with my consistent pattern of discovering music well after the rest of the world has heard it and moved on, I have to say that this 2005 Black Eyed Peas album, Monkey Business is pretty good!

These kids mix the rap with the singing and the chanting in a way that absolutely motivates my internal booty-shaker. And this little gal, Fergie, why, she should consider a solo career! (I'm not saying that those boys don't bring in da noise and da funk, they certainly do! I just would like to hear what would happen if Fergie had a little more creative control, you know?)

I don't know if I'm using the terminology properly, but I will say that those guys really get me to shake "my humps!"

Anyways, that's what I'm currently shoving into my ears.

(Which means that I've finally managed to shake the hold that RENT mercilessly had on me. For now.)

Cheers,
Mr.B

The Birthday Celebration: 2007

I just sent out about 40 - 50 emails, made a post on the Chinboard and am hitting a few other emails, before I wrap up THIS session of getting the word out. I'll be emailing more folks, this evening, to help get the word out.) But this Saturday is my birthday celebration. (I actually turn 32 at midnight. My actual birthday is on Sunday, the 21st.) Don't worry if you haven't gotten a personal invitation, yet. It's probably on it's way, today. (Although, it wouldn't hurt to mark your calendar, in anticipation of the invite!)

I'm gathering every good, conversationally-oriented person that I know, at the Town Hall Pub at 9pm for cocktails and dancing! My friend, Rich Cole, is deejaying the event . Rich spins nothing but funk, soul, jazz and blues. He subtly blends one infectious beat into another and you really can't help but shake your ass to what he's laying down. He's PERFECT for my birthday get together! And he's not one of those over-powering deejays. You won't have to yell over him to talk to someone at the bar.

At midnight, I'm stepping out of the party to go to the Playground to appear with Stinger at the Rene Duquesnoy benefit with International Stinger. But as soon as we're done with our set, I'm heading BACK to the Town Hall Pub for more drinking and dancing!

It should be a riot!

Another cool surprise from the weekend, is that an old college buddy, Wade, is driving into town, just to spend the weekend with me. So, he'll be drug around from bar to theater to bar, with the whole raft of well-wishers. It'll be fun to spend the weekend with him, too! We're still talking about possibly getting those tattoos!

So, good time are in the planning! In fact, why don't you mark your calendar and plan on making an appearance! It should be a blast!

Cheers,
Mr.B!


This is a pic from last year's birthday get-together. I was about 4 or 5 cocktails down, when someone slipped the karaoke deejay my name, requesting "Hit me baby, one more time!" I didn't know anything but the choruses, so I spoke the verses. Afterwards, a good friend described the performance as "Shatner-esque." I take that as a compliment. I am certain that similar shenanigans will be afoot on Saturday night!
(I added the signage, later.)

Improvisers are the worst people, ever.

Improvisers, as rule, are the worst sort of people you'll ever have the misfortune of coming across. I've spent a lifetime in their company. I know precisely what I am speaking of.

They lack discipline.
They admire snarkiness and cruelty.
They don't have conversations. They do bits.
They don't listen. They wait for you to stop talking, so that they can do a monologue for you.
They also never have money for cab fare or bar tabs.
And never, never, never, leave your girlfriend alone at a table with an improviser. When you return from the bathroom, you'll find the improviser staring down her dress as he drinks your beer!

In the stratosphere of the performing arts, Improvisers are below technicians, jugglers, quick-change artists, marionette puppeteers, plate-spinners, and the people who make interesting things by folding tiny bits of paper. All of those performers must do some sort of preparation or education to develop some level of proficiency. Improvisers walk in off the street, stinking of cheap beer and cigarettes, wearing the t-shirt that they sweated through the night before, blue-jeans sliding off their chunky, white asses and expect the paying audience to listen to their 5 minute long monologue about how awkward they feel around girls.

These are people who can't be bothered to wear costumes.
The use of props is above them.
No matter the pedigree of the scripted word, they can't be bothered to learn an eloquent speech, when any two-bit dancing monkey with the inclination can take the stage and recite his favorite Simpsons quotes for twenty minutes.

They can't handle the complexities of navigating a stage with scenery. Have you ever seen what they do with the two chairs that you give them? They throw them. Hump them. Slide them around. Break them. And hump them again for good measure. If an improviser comes to your house, cover the couch with plastic.

They can't dance competently.
They can't sing adequately.
They can't act subtly.
They can't play any sort of instrument.
They can't perform convincing stage combat.
They can't use onstage makeup.
They can't recite poetry.
They can't navigate Shakespearean prose.

Ask them to "find their light" and they begin searching their jacket pockets for their cigarette lighter!

These people are smug bastards, all of them. They smile at you as if they've got something figured out that you don't. And that thing is that audiences will pay to watch any level of onstage incompetence and come back, the next time their friends pressure them into it. People will pay to watch the most pointless exercises in incoherence, if given half a reason to.

Everything that they do onstage is a lie. They drive cars that aren't there. Drink beers that don't exist. And visit locations that they themselves have never been to and can't imagine. Not every Castle has a Grandfather Clock and a Suit of Armor in it!

Every improvised show begins with a lie. A suggestion is taken and then promptly ignored for twenty minutes. They begin by saying, "This show will be about your topic!" and then do anything and everything but deal with that one topic. It's the improvisers way of beginning each show with a demonstration of how un-funny the audience is and how moderately more funny the performers are. And to prove that nothing that they say, can be trusted.

I need not mention that nearly every one of them is a veritable petri dish for venereal diseases, which they spread amongst themselves like a Roman Orgy.

Liars.
Cheats.
Thieves.
Charlatans.
Mountebanks.
Fabulists.
Scoundrels.
Wastrels.
And
Perjurers!

Their trade in cloth is the whole cut lie.
Their lack of training or proficiency in any artform is a badge of pride.
Their past is a shady mix of bold inexperience and blatant manipulation of one of the most regressively produced theatrical forms since bear wrestling closed it's hallowed doors.

Don't talk to these people.
Don't watch their "shows".
And for God's sake, Don't sleep with them.
If they ask for a suggestion, suggest that they "get a job and do something productive with their lives."

Thank the Lord that most of them will be dead from syphilis within the next five years.

A Beacon of Honesty,
Mr.B

He-Man Remixed!

A link to a link to a link sent me to this video.

Good Christ, but this is funny! (It starts slow, but really picks up. Stick it out for some really funny animation.)



Brilliant.

Just brilliant!

Cheers,
Mr.B

My next two tattoos...

I think I've decided what my next two tattoos are going to be.

I am tentatively scheduled to get them on my 32nd birthday. Which is in two weeks.

(Although, I might hold off. These monsters are BIG and permanent. And I might need some more time to think about them, before I commit to them. As such, I definitely welcome feedback about them, in the comments on this blog. In the end, its my call to make, but I am soliciting opinions.)

So, here's the deal. In a font similar to this and with each letter being roughly an inch tall, I want "Veritas" on my left arm. And "justitia" on my right.



Veritas is the Roman Goddess of Truth. Daughter of Saturn.
Justitia is Roman Goddess of Justice. She's the dame you see outside of all courthouses with the scales and sword. Yeah, that's her. Justitia is her name.

To summarize, my left arm becomes "Truth" and my right arm becomes "Justice". (I'm not looking for a place to put "The American Way" on my body. This isn't a Superman tribute.)

This is more about recognizing the importance of both Truth and Justice in our world. That the decisions that we make must be made, based on a search for the truth (or as close as we can reasonably get) and Justice must be meted out for those who chose by their actions to disrupt the common peace.

Rewards for the good.
Punishment for the evil.

I've chosen the arms for these tattoos, because there's some symbology there, as well. The left arm, indeed, the left side of the entire body is commonly considered by religious adepts to be the weaker side of the body. (The word "left" comes from the Old English word "lyft", which literally translates to mean "weak". The weak side.) The right side of the body and the right arm symbolize strenght and power. If one arm were given to determining the truth, then the weaker arm of the two is the logical choice. The right arm, however is the strongest and therefore reserved for the strenuous labor of dispensing justice.

Both tats will be high enough that they won't be visible, when I'm wearing most t-shirts or short sleeve shirts at work. Discretion is still important at this point.

I have an overall design scheme for the tatoos that I want on my body.
I want symbols entirely. (Which includes words, as they're composed entirely of symbols, which signify sound and therefore, form language.)
I also probably won't use a whole lot of color in my tatoos. Not unless the color symbolizes something too. So the color and design of these two tats, fit my eventual design goal.

And if 2007 shapes up the way that I want it to and I am able to make some other body modifications, these two tats will appropriately look badass, when I get them.

Enough jibber-jabbering about these things. What do you think about them? Any suggestions on size, font, color, location, etc. Should I get them? Should I NEVER get them? Should I wait and get them later?

Sound off, Readers. Let me know what you think!

Cheers,
Mr.B